Warning: This piece of fanfiction contains questionable themes such as sexual/non-sexual relationships between two males, abuse of power, violence and swearing. Mom and dad, I can swear this is NOT your fault.

Disclaimer: We all already know that I don’t own the characters. You-know-who is kind of selfish see, we all know that. But see, we still love her for coming up with them.

Rating: PG/PG-13 for this chapter. It gets to about R/NC-17 from chapter 2 onwards. That is if, you see it posted

Chapter 1

He ran furiously, as if stinging whips were upon his back. Heart trapping in his throat, he wheezed a couple of times, breaking his momentum. Staggering awkwardly, he found a shaded clearing and thought it safe to hide from them there. It would be night soon and he thought even the rebels would not be crazed enough to continue their frenzied search for him.

Shivering, he wrapped his arms, trying to draw as much comfort from himself. He was flushed from the running, but fear was another factor altogether. Worriedly he wondered how he had been so careless as to be spotted when he was supposed to be the one doing the spying. Was he not one of the elite troupes? Was he not one of those that other men looked up too, and strived to be? If he were caught, morale would dip, and a chain-link of events might befall his people.

Closing his eyes, a disturbed sleep took him, with nightmares of what would happen if he were to be caught.

~

Draco Malfoy barely gave a glance to the man brought before him. The face of the captive triggered a tiny memory, but not being able to grasp it, he let it slip. Running a hand through his slick blond hair before facing his inferiors, he looked at each of them carefully. When he saw that he had their undivided attention, he spoke slowly, emphasizing his words.

“You have done well my faithful followers – Vincent, Gregory and Blaise, each of you will be duly rewarded for your contribution.”

Draco had a unique way of speaking to others that made them feel as if he was addressing every single one of them personally. Immensely useful in the manipulation of others, he had managed to get above certain situations from the silkiness of his tongue alone. Courtesy of father, he thought, as an angry dark wave crashed over him.

His father had been caught by Them, and here was a man, coming from the ranks of those who had captured him. Such were the winds of war – they changed so unpredictably. Certain time the challenges war posed to him drew out a raw power, an addictive surge of adrenalin that surpassed all other matters. Smirking, Draco laughed to himself, we are going to have fun.

Vincent and Gregory shared a smile between them as they were complimented – for even though their leader was just, flattering words were rarely passed. Now there was indeed a reason to party through the night. Blaise however, shot a secret glance at his leader. There was painted smile on Draco’s face, as if this capture was the slightest bit more significant than the others before.

“Search him,” he commanded the three men present, “Then chain him in The Room.”

They dropped unceremoniously onto their knees and begun their work as Draco left them, heels clipping harshly against the stone floor. His steps strangely hammered the foreboding future of the captive.

~

“My, my. What do we have here,” Draco smiled wryly as he spoke. “Harry Potter – the all infamous man who severely wounded Voldemort in close combat and survived to tell his tale, with naught but a scar. Not bad.”

“All your rewards will be doubled, faithful followers. And now, if you could excuse me and join your fellow comrades,” he drawled even as his eyes conveyed a silent message to Blaise. This would be a chance for them to turn the tide. It was painfully obvious how most of the Gryffindors had placed their hopes on this Harry Potter to win the war for them.

No man in the right state of mind when asked by Draco to leave would disagree. The two men left nosily as Blaise lingered, silently stilling his emotions before he spoke to his leader. Draco however turned and faced the opposite wall, drawing the distance between them.

“There has been no news of him Draco.”

“I see.”

Blaise involuntarily took a step forward. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine. How are the tunnels?”

“Almost ready.”

Draco turned to face Blaise; traces of emotion ironed clean upon his face. Blaise would not be able understand – his mother did not desert him. Shutting himself inwardly he said softly, “Thank you, now go join the rest. If I heard correctly, Miss Parkinson has something planned has she not?”

“Will you not join us?”

Stoically, the blonde said nothing in reply, and Blaise took it as his cue to leave. Draco sat down slowly, mind processing everything. If the prisoner would speak, he would be reunited with his father soon enough. If it was not for his father, the captive would have been used as a mere hostage – but now the essential point was to reclaim the lost land, and find his father.

There were many things to settle, and matters to deal with later. Draco soon left the room, thinking he might as well make the most of his time and pay a visit to his prisoner; the golden boy with ebony hair, he added sardonically to himself.

~

Harry blinked his eyes in confusion as he tired to survey his surroundings. He felt cold and awkwardly stiff, as his limbs refused to budge. His neck cracked as he tried to move his head and found it tightly restricted by a metal collar. Eyeing his hands and feet, he realized he was hung up against a wall.

It was just like a scene in the crucifix, he thought warily, and tried to recall how he had ended up in such an awkward and restricting position. Before he could do so however, footsteps approached and a hooded figure entered, a shadowy emerald green cloak wrapped snugly against his figure.

Harry raised his eyes towards the man, but his captor’s face was well hidden in the folds of the hood. Like a chameleon blending into its surroundings, Harry found it very hard to be sure if the new visitor was there, or was merely a figment of his imagination. As if sensing his thoughts, the man stared at him. There was a moment of forced calmness before he spoke, voice slicing across the room like a hot knife to butter.

“Getting comfortable, aren’t we. Potter.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open again, focusing them on his captor. His last name had been spat out so venomously that inwardly Harry shuddered, not knowing what crimes he had previously committed to deserve such a tone from the mysterious visitor. If the single tone of his voice could generate so much fear in him, he wondered what more the man in person.

Mentally Harry slapped himself – what had he been thinking? Being enemies, their hatred for each other ran deep, and was founded upon the bloodlines of ancient times. It was further intensified because of the current feud; but he should not even be letting his enemy crawl under his nerves and intimidate him. Harry dropped his head, ashamed. For the life of him, he could not imagine how he had let down his guard and got as careless as this.

“Oh by the way,” the voice breaking through his thoughts, “I never do let those who are going to die by my hand see my face. But I, being so kind, do give them the pleasure of knowing my name.”

Lifting his hand, Draco slapped Harry roughly on his right cheek. The shock of the sudden contact brought hundreds of nerves rushing to his heated face. Smarting from the pain, Harry winced when the hand contacted his cheek again. Flinching, he readied himself for another resounding slap.

It never came. Harry stayed immobile as Draco slid his hand from Harry’s cheek and curved his slender fingers around the base of Harry’s chin. He lifted Harry’s gaze and for a moment, Harry thought he saw the silvery grey eyes of his captor. Draco neared his face to Harry’s and glared at the stubborn man, defiance spelt out clearly. Oh how I will enjoy breaking him, contemplated Draco.

“Don’t touch me, Malfoy,” Harry managed to growl out threateningly, even if he felt Draco’s fingernails brutally digging crescent marks into his skin.

Draco looked half surprised, but merely smiled before turning around and walking out. “We’ll see about that, Potter,” his commented, as his cold retort bounced hollowly off the four walls. The curtains were drawn, the stage was ready for him and the games were just beginning.

~

A/N: That's it for chapter1. It is cross posted at fanfiction.net where all my nonsense is located. I have this nagging plotline, for the 1800 century fic, although it refuses to manifest itself, so for the time being, I guess this will have to do.